


Far As I Can See

by Face_of_Poe



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Star Trek Fusion, Fluff and Angst, Homesickness, M/M, More melancholy than angst, Sensory Overload, caught between two worlds, use of medication for assimilatory purposes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 22:55:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14199429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Face_of_Poe/pseuds/Face_of_Poe
Summary: For all the companionable warmth of their increasingly frequent downtime interactions, the speed with which Alexander rejects his clumsy overtures strikes him as cold.





	Far As I Can See

I. 

For all the companionable warmth of their increasingly frequent downtime interactions, the speed with which Alexander rejects his clumsy overtures strikes him as cold.

Wounded pride more than undue harshness, John realizes later when he’s replaying the scene on endless loop to varying degrees of dejection and humiliation curling and clenching his stomach by turns.

They don’t talk about it, but Alexander seems to go out of his way to spend even _more_ time with John in the days ahead that would otherwise threaten to grow awkward in the aftermath. A silent communication of _no hard feelings_ , he supposes, and he’s glad for it, except he can’t help but feel he hasn’t misjudged a situation that badly since his early days at the academy. 

But life goes on aboard the _USS Revolution_. Days bleed into weeks, into months, and Lieutenant Laurens lets his infatuation with his fellow bridge officer simmer quietly beneath the surface, save for the dreams that rest beyond his control.

 

II. 

There’s something just a bit _off_ about Alexander when he returns with Commander Lafayette and Lieutenant Burr from an away mission gone wrong, but there’s no time to fret over it while their hasty departure from the system demands all hands on deck and their collective undivided attention.

When they finally engage the warp drive into relative safety, Captain Washington has to twice call Alexander’s name, and gets an irritated, “ _What_?” when he finally catches the young ensign’s attention.

Washington cocks a brow coolly. The rest of the crew stare on in varying shades of nervous awe at their youngest colleague’s audacity. Lafayette opens his mouth, indignation written across his face, but Washington waves him off and nods towards the turbolift. “Check in with Doctor Stevens in medical, Mister Hamilton.”

Alexander sighs and obliges with a muttered apology, and John can’t decide if his compliance is more or less surprising than the initial outburst. Too smart for his own good at times, Alexander’s excitability can lead him close to toeing the line of propriety, but John’s never seen him flatly disrespectful to Washington or any other superior officer.

Moments before the door to the lift closes, he sees him lean against the wall, eyes closed and shaking.

“Captain, permission to -?”

“No.”

“But, sir -”

“Leave it alone, Mister Laurens, and get me a status report on starboard decks twelve through nineteen.” Right. Enemy fire. Loss of shield integrity. “Mister Lafayette, a word in my ready room, if you would.”

 

III.

Doctor Stevens is less than helpful when John stops by medical after his shift, but the ship’s computer diverts him towards the holodeck instead of Alexander’s private quarters.

It unlocks for him, and he steps through into paradise.

A path of weathered white stones leads him through a forest unlike any he’s encountered on the myriad worlds he’s traveled. Green and purple fronds sway towards him, not by the force of any breeze in the air but curious, probing, barely kissing the bare skin of his cheeks, his hands, tickling across the back of his neck. He stops and raises his hand towards the closest tree, lets the leaves dance across his skin, a mimicry of a handshake.

The path leads him to a creek; in the gap of the foliage, he can better discern the lavender sky; the glow of a too-orange sun, and when he steps out from beneath the canopy another hundred meters on, he spots the blue orb sinking below the horizon.

And he spots Alexander, sprawled like a star on a huge flat stone at the end of his path. Face up, eyes closed. Peaceful. Hand drifting lazily through the cornflower grass that seems to curl around each fingertip like something aware, sentient.

Maybe it is. Or would be, were they not inside a simulation.

“My father,” Alexander murmurs by way of greeting, “was the sole human in a team of a half-dozen scientists and diplomats sent to this place twenty-five years ago. Sit on the rocks, not in the grass.”

John freezes, one foot into the feathery blue carpet of this strange new world, and then retreats; watches the crushed tendrils rise up again and flex. _Stretching_. “It’s very beautiful.” He settles himself at the far end of the big flat rock where Alexander is perched, and lets his hand drift over the questing grass. “Can I…?”

“You can touch. But you can’t _feel_ it, can you?”

“What?”

The individual stalks curl curiously around his fingers, stroke across his palm. “At the end of a year’s study, the team and the natives regretfully concluded that any outside presence risked disrupting the planet’s delicate balance; the particular symbiotic evolution of the flora and fauna. It was given no-contact status and the location classified at the highest levels. To my knowledge,” he levers himself upright and opens his eyes to level a piercing, shocking stare at John, “you’re the only other human who has seen it. So to speak.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes, and crawls forward to more closely study Alexander’s ruby-red eyes. And he glances around at the vibrant hues of this world, realizes that his human eyes are failing him spectacularly, that the full spectrum of colors must be something to behold indeed. And he thinks back on his anthropology courses. “Are you a terrabasian?”

“Well,” Alexander smiles crookedly and lies back down, hands folded under his head. “Half.”

“Is that why you joined Starfleet?” A single eye cracks open again, intrigued. “An entity built to accommodate all beings, when you’re one-of-a-kind?”

He mulls that for a minute. “Terrabasians didn’t always know what to make of my human side, but they didn’t reject me. I left ten years ago when my mother died, seeking the father who effectively was forced to legally forbid himself from ever returning to her side.”

“Why did she never go to him?”

A longer silence that time, and then: “Give me your hand.”

So he does; reaches out and rests his palm in Alexander’s where he pulls it out from under his head. He doesn’t miss the tremor that runs through his companion at the touch, but his attention is quickly drawn by the way fingers curls around his, not dissimilar to the questing touch of the simulated plant-life, until they’re simply resting there, matched fingertip to fingertip.

“An affectionate gesture; friendly or romantic, depending on a number of cultural and social factors, age, personal spatial comfort…” John can’t tear his eyes away from Alexander’s face, turned up to the warmth of the dual suns, eyes closed but darting quickly back and forth beneath the lids. “This is an intimacy two terrabasians would take weeks to attain. We see more – both literally, with our eyes, and – I can feel your quickening heartrate. Your breath is shallow – nervous.” A gentle smile curls his lips. “I can feel you blushing.” Which of course only serves to make him flush harder.

After a quick squeeze and another palpable tremor, Alexander releases his hand. Resumes his sprawled posture and speaks softly up towards the sky. “The scientists who studied Terrebast collected plant and soil samples for analysis. It’s a class-M world, and the team had the best technology aboard their ships that the Federation had to offer. But the plants all died within a week of their removal from their native habitats. All of them. And once the botanists exhausted environmental possibilities, they were forced to conclude that they simply wasted away of loneliness.”

 

IV.

Alexander gets Captain Washington and a somewhat reluctant Doctor Stevens to sign off on his plan to forego his sensory-dulling meds during their next shore leave a few weeks later. While the bulk of the crew transports down to the planet though, John and Alexander stay aboard the _Revolution_ , and John watches his companion slowly stroll the corridors towards the holodeck, practically vibrating for the force of the heightened input.

“Neddy gets protective,” Alexander smiles fondly as he removes the lenses that serve to reduce his spectrum of vision and mask his true eye color. “Even more so since that little meltdown. He inherited the thankless task of keeping me functional outside of my native environment from his father, whose lap I practically fell into a few months after I left Terrebast.”

They stroll along the same stone path as before. John wonders if it’s imagined, or a favorite spot from back home, but the question strikes him too personal every time he thinks to ask. “It must be a very peaceful place.”

“Too peaceful,” Alexander admits barely above a whisper. “Too vulnerable. Isolated by necessity more than choice – they’re curious about what’s out there, you know? They learn about the Federation, but life outside their little world is too overwhelming. Too loud, too fast, too… _violent_.”

The question leaves his lips before he can fully consider. “How do you stand it?”

But Alexander just throws him a look over his shoulder. Part amused, part resigned. “The fundamental human weakness seems to be a certain wanderlust; the need for adventure.”

“Are you lonely?”

The weight of the question isn’t lost on Alexander, and he considers it the whole rest of their stroll to the same spot where they spoke before. “The fundamental human _strength_ ,” he answers at last, “is the ability to find _home_ in the unlikeliest of places. To _forge_ a family from myriad disparate parts when none biological remains.”

Which doesn’t quite answer John’s question, but it kind of does at the same time.

“Computer,” Alexander calls after a few minutes of comfortable silence, lying side by side, “Simulate rainbow moonrise.”

The dusk comes on quickly, too quickly, but then time ceases to make sense at all as they lie there side-by-side, not touching save for the barest brush of fingertips. The function of the holodeck, the peacefulness of the rare time free of responsibilities, the comfort of a beloved companion, some combination of all three perhaps, but he watches the satellites of Terrebast dance across the sky for an eternity and no time at all until Alexander explains.

“It happens every few centuries. The five of them in a perfect arc across the sky, and lasts less than a minute before the lowest one sinks back beneath the horizon.” Wistfully, he adds, “I wish you could see all the colors.” And even softer: “My mother brought me here to see it when I was twelve.”

John shifts where he lies; lets his fingers drift carefully down each of Alexander’s and feels him shiver. Watches his eyes drift closed, and studies the shadows cast across his narrow cheekbones, skin tinged with the ethereal glow of the light reflected from five moons.

Their fingers weave together after an eternity and no time at all until their palms rest flush.

Alexander squeezes once, gently; John feels a surge of warmth radiate from his heart, and knows that Alexander can feel it too.

**Author's Note:**

> Because the only thing better than Hamilton fic is Hamilton fic IN SPACE. 
> 
> Cheers to aidennestorm and dreamlittleyo for supplying me with the prompt words that led to this random plot bunny, and for introducing me to the joys of Trek fusion in the first place.
> 
> [Tumbl Me!](https://faceofpoe.tumblr.com/)


End file.
